


Different Kinds of Silence

by Inell



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Pre-Relationship, References Lucius/Narcissa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-01
Updated: 2014-09-01
Packaged: 2018-02-15 17:16:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2237103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inell/pseuds/Inell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are different kinds of silence</p>
            </blockquote>





	Different Kinds of Silence

**Author's Note:**

> Over on my [Livejournal](http://inell.livejournal.com/), I've been accepting challenges and doing polls on ships that my readers enjoy. This is one of those! Feel free to let me know if there are any ships you'd like me to consider writing.

The silence is deafening.

Insults and threats would be an improvement over this kind of silence. Hermione understands that there probably isn’t much to talk about, but she’s still concerned that Lucius Malfoy is in the presence of a Muggleborn and isn’t saying anything at all. He hasn’t even glared at her or really noticed anything at all since she collected him and brought him here. 

It’s been two days since everything changed. Two days since rogue Death Eaters ambushed Narcissa Malfoy while she was leaving a meeting with Harry. Two days since Narcissa used her dying words to make Harry promise to keep her husband and son safe. Two days since Harry summoned her and Ron to Grimmauld Place. Two days since Ron was given Draco and told to keep him safe until Harry sent word. Two days since she was given Lucius bloody Malfoy to keep safe because Harry is noble and is even willing to protect someone who fought him in the past because of a promise made to a dying woman.

“I’ve made potatoes and sausage if you’re hungry.” Hermione is uncomfortable dealing with this man, and she’s just relieved that they’re in her childhood home instead of somewhere unfamiliar. At least here she can maintain some resemblance of control. Harry seems to think this would be the last place any Death Eaters would expect to find a Malfoy, so they’re supposed to be safe. She’s not concerned about the Death Eaters, since she’s got wards and protections on the house that rival those at Hogwarts, but she is concerned about the emotional and mental health of her current ward. When he makes no move to get food, she bites the inside of her bottom lip to keep from nagging at him.

After a moment, she gets two plates and piles food on them. She sets one on the table by him and puts the other in front of her place before she sits down. “You need to eat, Mr. Malfoy,” she says quietly. “I know it’s not posh, but it’s hearty food that’ll stick to your ribs.”

He doesn’t say anything, but he does look at her and arch a brow. His lips curl into a sneer as he pushes the plate away. That does it. She’s tired of meekly stepping around him and trying to be nice.

“Personally, I don’t care if you starve yourself. However, your wife wanted you to live for some reason, and I doubt she’d appreciate you treating your life so trivially.” Hermione takes a bite of her food and opens a book. “I am sorry for your loss, Mr. Malfoy, but we’ve all lost people to this war. Many innocent lives were taken before Voldemort’s death, and, to be blunt, your wife’s life is not one of those. Harry made a promise to her, though, and I’m willing to do what I can to help him fulfill that promise. I don’t bloody well care if you help or not. Starve yourself. I’ll still take you to meet your son, if only so he can see how much of a coward you are.”

“I am not a coward, Mudblood,” Malfoy growls, finally speaking for the first time in days.

“After having it carved into my skin, that insult no longer affects me. If not coward, what would you call refusing to eat and sitting around sulking? It takes strength to continue living while those we love die,” she says. “Mourn and move on.”

“You know nothing, child. I should make you take back your words.” Malfoy threatens. Before he can continue, she has cast stupefy with just a flick of her wand.

“I haven’t been a child since I entered this world of magic and nightmares. It would do you well to remember that before making idle threats. I promised Harry I’d get you out alive, but I never made any promises about the condition you’d be in.” She waits to speak until the charm wears off, not all concerned when he scowls at her. She pushes the plate back towards Malfoy and smiles sweetly. “Eat up, Mr. Malfoy. The food is getting cold.”

He glares at her but does as he’s told. “These potatoes are bland, and the sausage is an inferior product. Cheap.” He continues eating after his critique, and she rolls her eyes because she doesn’t particularly care about his personal culinary preferences.

“After you finish dinner, you should take a bath. It’s been two days of you sitting around grieving, and you’re going to stink if you don’t bathe soon.” She offers an innocent smile when he sneers at her, preferring this verbal battle to the silence. Besides, she lost any fear she might have had of him during the war. He’s not a fighter, and she is, so she feels rather confident that she could best him if it came to that regardless of their age and life experience.

“If you smell something unpleasant, I’m certain it’s the filth in this Muggle shack.” He flicks his hair over his shoulder and casts a judging look around. “The place is dusty and covered in spider webs. Does your Mr. Potter keep abandoned homes free for use?”

“This is my home, Mr. Malfoy. I’m afraid it’s not up to your standards of cleanliness because I was forced to send my parents away with altered memories in order to keep them safe. When you’re finished, wash your own dishes.” She stands and casts a cleaning charm before walking away.

Once she’s settled on the sofa with her book, she escapes into a fictional world and forgets his existence. It isn’t until she’s finished, several hours later, that she bothers to check on him. He’s seated in an armchair by the fireplace with one of her Agatha Christie novels.

“If you’d like a bath, I can show you how to prepare it.” She stretches after standing. “You’re welcome to take the book along. I’ve cast charms on all of my books to prevent from getting wet since I enjoy reading in the bath.”

Malfoy studies her a moment before he stands. “This Muggle detective? That’s similar to an auror, I presume?”

“An independent auror, perhaps.” Hermione glances at the title to see that he’s reading one of the Poirot novels and not Miss Marple. “He doesn’t work for the government.” She leads him upstairs to the bathroom that she uses. It’s not the master, because she feels awkward being in her parents’ room even if it’s been three years since she sent them to Australia with no memories of their daughter, but it’s adequate for her needs.

“He is an interesting character. I expect he is a wizard with a gift for divination,” Malfoy says, holding up a hand before she can speak. “Do not give me excuses of him being a Muggle creation. Surely you know that appearances can be deceiving, Granger.”

“It’s perfectly alright to enjoy a book about a Muggle detective, Mr. Malfoy. No one will appear and demand you surrender your wand for doing so.” She proceeds to show him how to use the taps and prepare his bath before stepping out and shutting the door behind her.

While he bathes, she goes to her room and changes into comfy pajamas. She sits on her bed with pillow behind her as she continues to read. A few chapters later, her reading is interrupted. “This book is impossible. How could anyone solve the crime without being given enough evidence to do so? I stand by my theory that this Poirot is a wizard.”

“It’s entertainment, Mr. Malfoy. Not a case study for the reader to solve.” She looks up from her book and blinks at him. He’s got a towel wrapped around his hair and nothing else on. “Why are you naked?”

“I certainly wasn’t putting on clothing that I’ve had on for several days. You failed to provide me adequate clothing to wear, which I must point out is pitiable hospitality. I hope that you do not treat all your guests this poorly.” He arches a brow and smirks. “Is something the matter, Miss Granger? You’re looking rather flushed.”

She narrows her eyes at him. “Nothing at all is wrong. I’m just feeling somewhat underwhelmed at the moment,” she says dryly. “I’m afraid I don’t have any clothing lying around that would fit you, but I can make adjustments to a pair of track pants and a t-shirt easily enough.”

“Underwhelmed?” He snorts. “There is nothing underwhelming about me. I am not familiar with Muggle clothing, but I will be forced to wear whatever you provide until I can get my wand back, so it will be sufficient. Potter had better bring my wand to me tomorrow or I’ll go looking for it.”

“He took it as a safety precaution. With your reaction to your wife’s death, he wasn’t sure if you were stable. There’s also the matter of being looked after by me. He was worried you might attempt something that got you killed.” She shrugs a shoulder, ignoring his nudity as she gets a change of clothes from her wardrobe. They’re old since she doesn’t actually live in the house anymore. She just hasn’t sold it yet. “He tries to prevent me from killing people unless it’s necessary.”

“Good old Potter. The boy hero.” Malfoy’s tone is snide. “I never imagined having to accept assistance from him in order to stay alive.”

“Stop fiddling with my things,” she warns, turning to see him standing at the bureau touching her stuff. “Get dressed, Mr. Malfoy. I have no interest in seeing your pasty arse any longer.”

“I thought Muggles were exceptionally fond of underclothes?” Malfoy opens a drawer and holds up one of her old brassieres. “Yet you fail to provide me with a pair.”

“Put that back,” she snaps, walking over to snatch it out of his hand. “What did you do to your face?” She frowns as she rubs her thumb over his bottom lip. “You shouldn’t have used that. It was my mum’s lipstick, and crimson is not your shade, Mr. Malfoy.” She leans forward and sniffs. “Did you also spray the perfume?”

“The fragrance is pleasant. It certainly smells better than this musty old house,” he says, tilting his chin up. “I do not know what lipstick is, but I assume it’s similar to the lip color that my wife is fond of.” He stops and visibly collects himself. “Excuse me. Was fond of. I was simply curious about the bright red tube.”

“Get dressed, Malfoy. It’s late, and I think we might hear from Harry tomorrow. He’s arranging a safe house for you and Draco to use until the men who killed your wife are caught. There’s tissue on the bedside table. You should wipe your lips off before going to sleep or you’ll risk having lipstick all over your face in the morning.” She looks at his lips and wonders if it’s odd to think they actually look rather good with lipstick. Full and surprisingly plump in a way she almost envies. When she realizes she’s staring at his mouth while he’s standing around nude, she steps away. “If you feel like sleeping in a bed, there’s a guest room across the hall. It might be more comfortable than the chair downstairs.”

There’s silence behind her as she leaves the room to take care of her own bathroom needs. After brushing her teeth and using the toilet, she washes her hands and looks in the mirror. It is obvious that she’s exhausted. There are circles under her eyes, and she pokes at her face before sticking her tongue out at her reflection.

When she gets back to her room, she stops in the doorway and arches a brow. “Really, Mr. Malfoy? There’s a bed across the hall. Why are you in my bed?”

“I do not wish to be alone this evening, Miss Granger. Sadly, you are the only option for company,” he says matter-of-factly. “I am wearing those hideous trousers you provided, but I refuse to wear a shirt with a unicorn on the front, even one reading a book. My wife has just died, so your virtue is safe this evening. I would like to read another book with the wizard Poirot before going to sleep.”

Hermione considers insisting, but she finally just sighs. “You missed some of the lipstick,” she says, reaching over to wipe her thumb across the corner of his mouth. The pad of her thumb is now crimson colored, so she wipes it off on a tissue before grabbing a book off her bookshelf. “Here’s one for you. I’ll be curious to see if you guess the ending.”

“Orient Express? What is that?” he asks, watching her closely as he licks his lips.

“It’s a Muggle train. You’ll enjoy it.” She goes to the other side of the bed and gets under her sheet before she opens her own book. She glances at him. “Harry is going to catch the men who killed your wife, Mr. Malfoy. He owed her a debt that doesn’t end just because she’s gone.” He just looks at her for a long moment before he opens the book and begins reading.

The silence is comfortable.

End


End file.
